


Walking In A Winter Wonderland

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Cold Weather, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hypothermia, Snow, well a little but the comfort does not comfort you at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:48:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22582786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It had started as a peaceful walk in the woods. Now, Alex and George were stuck in the blizzard, unable to locate their way back to camp.They only had so much time before the cold claimed them.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton & George Washington
Comments: 8
Kudos: 76





	Walking In A Winter Wonderland

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, this was supposed to be fluffy. But then the promised snow didn't fall from the sky and I turned bitter. Thank the weathermen who got my hopes up for this.

They were hopelessly lost. They had been walking for hours. Camp shouldn’t have been that far away. Now it was dark, and they were barely on their feet.

George and Alexander had gone for a walk in the nearby forest. Nothing of importance was discussed, just playful banter and peaceful silence as they observed the snow. It was magical, transforming the bare forest into a wonderland. Alexander looked at the trees in awe. He had seen a few New York winters before, but he was from the Caribbean. The way the snow took the place of leaves and the sunset reflected light and pale, pastel colors off of the ground was a sight he was still in awe of.

George was watching him, smiling. He had seen this every winter, and some of the novelty wore off when night fell and the beautiful snow turned into reverse insulation. This was different, though. He got to see his boy experience it. Smiling at the way his eyes were open with wonder, conversation being abandoned for gazing, it was a moment he would never forget.

He wouldn’t be enjoying it in the evening, though. A blizzard was predicted to blow in and the snow would pile up to their knees (Well, George’s knees, Alexander’s torso). Alex would probably spend the evening huddled up next to the other aides by the fireplace, trying to write his correspondences before the ink froze. Where George had gone through similar temperatures his entire life, Alex was raised with year-long warm weather. The balmy islands could not compare to the freezing colonies, where the wind alone felt like daggers.

So caught up in their thoughts, they hadn’t noticed the Redcoats. They had been following them for over an hour, waiting until they were five miles from camp. When George mentioned turning back, they attacked.

The fight was quick, but brutal. Alexander took down one with his own gun, but not before getting his shoulder caught by the end of the bayonet. George drew his pistol and shot the other two, but caught his foot in a whole previously hidden by the layer of fresh snow. He fell, and his ankle stayed, twisting with a sickening crack. When the fight, which hadn’t lasted two minutes, was over, three Redcoats were lying dead on the ground. Their blood stained the pristine snow a bright crimson. George managed to carefully extract his foot from the hole, and Alex was gripping his shoulder, trying to stem the steady trickle of blood.

Limping over to Alexander, George gently touched his shoulder. Alex winced at the contact, and it only caused more bleeding. “We need to get back. There’s a storm coming, and we can’t be caught out. Come on, son.” George said, starting off in a direction. He abruptly stopped, taking a moment to examine his surroundings. 

Which way had they come from?

The skirmish left the snow disturbed, and any previous footprints were either destroyed or covered up by new snow that had fallen. Clouds had come in, and the sun was no longer visible. They had never walked out this far, so the trees were unfamiliar. They were five miles from camp in unfamiliar territory.

They were lost.

Alex, who had stopped walking when George had, had evidently came to the same conclusion. “Well damn.” He sighed, shifting his weight, “We lost North.”

There was only one possibility, and that was pick a direction and walk. And so they did, walking the way a small bird had flown. Their reasoning was the bird would probably be flying towards warmth.

That was how they were now. They had been walking for what felt like days. The sunlight was gone, replaced with oppressive darkness and howling winds. The snow was no longer magical, it was deadly.

Alexander wasn’t doing well. The gash on his shoulder, while the bleeding had slowed, was still painful and making him woozy. He had tripped several times, only being saved from hitting the ground by George’s quick reflexes. He wasn’t doing much better. George’s ankle made every step agony, and more than once they were forced to stop as he leaned against a tree to alleviate the pain. The promised blizzard was here, blinding them to anything more than a few feet in front of them. They were heavily leaning on each other to stay upright, the strong winds already pushing them around. They didn’t even know if they were going the right way anymore, but there was no way to backtrack. The biting cold muddled their thoughts. The darkness only made it harder to focus.

The darkness.

They had left at noon.

They had walked for two hours until they were ambushed.

The sun was down, and they had been walking for much longer.

They were going in the wrong direction.

It felt like a punch to the throat. They had survived this far into the war. They had lived through battles, through assassination attempts. Hell, Alexander had survived even worse in his early childhood. And now they were dead because they got turned around in a snowstorm. They were going to keep walking until they collapsed, buried in the snow and not discovered until spring when it melted. Alexander looked close to it, his eyes drooping and his breathing shallow. He had lost so much blood, it was a wonder he had made it this far. But he couldn’t last much longer.

They weren’t going to make it back.

“Alexander, son, come here.” He said, grabbing his hand and gently guiding him over to a large tree. The trunk was wide enough they both could lean against it, and it provided some shelter from the winds. “Let’s rest here.”

Alexander sluggishly shook his head. “No, no, we hav’ta deliv’r the m’ss’ges. Can’t stop.” He slurred, his accent coming back full force not that his inhibitions were lowered.

“It’s alright, son,” He promised, voice cracking, “You can deliver them after you rest.”

He sat down, and pulled Alex down with him. When Alex sat, he sat practically in George’s lap. George wrapped his arms around him, careful to avoid his shoulder. “It’s alright, you can rest now.” He promised.

“Thank you, fath’r.” He murmured. Alexander closed his eyes, and his breaths slowed.

George felt the exact moment they stopped.

He held him tighter, and could barely feel the tears running down his face. “Goodnight, son.” He let his own eyes slide shut.

  
-

  
They were found in the morning a quarter mile from camp. Half buried in the snow, a patrol had tripped over them on his rounds. Alexander was still curled up in Washington’s arms. A small bird had landed in the tree they were leaning on, looking down with curiosity. They both had a look of peaceful rest on their face, as though they were asleep. They may have not shown it in life, but they were truly father and son in death.

**Author's Note:**

> why  
> wont  
> it  
> just  
> snow
> 
> the lack of snow is my villain origin story


End file.
